The Regina
by The Creatress
Summary: Tom Riddle is a lonely, but focussed first year who finds a mysterious diary in his trunk. It talks to him. Her name is Ginevra. As he grows closer to her, things start happening. Threats, attacks, murders... And Tom can't remember where he was last night
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer – I own nothing of the HP books or whatever associated, blada blada blada, you know the drill…

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Author's Note:

Creatress: Second TMRGW!!

Tom: You didn't finish Circles yet.

Creatress: So...?

Ginny: Will you?

Creatress: ... ... ... Just shut up and read this!

luv

The Almighty Creatress

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The Regina

Chapter 1 An Anagram For You

Tom Marvolo Riddle frowned, turning the book over in his hands and studying it carefully. It was black, leather bound and had TMR stamped across the front in silver. He opened it and flipped through the pages. The pages were completely blank - it was obviously a notebook. His frown deepened.

As handsome and well-suited as it was for him (how can it not be? It had his initials across the front), Tom had not bought it. In fact, the Slytherin had never even _seen _it before. It had shown up in his trunk, flanked by texts and other books. He himself had never seen it before. As unfamiliar with the magical world as he was - this being his first year at Hogwarts, after all - he was quite sure that books didn't simply appear in peoples' trunks.

A little suspicious, he pulled out his wand and tapped the book with a spell that would detect anything he should be wary of. Nothing came up.

And this was enough to satisfy Tom and keep him from trashing the book as he'd originally thought he would. He would keep it. Afterall, that spell was at the third year level and it would have shown him any type of danger - he was able to do it because he'd studied his books and practiced like mad ever since the transfigurations professor had paid him a visit a few weeks ago.

Not that he'd minded. Studying magic had grown like a drug on him, and he was addicted to knowledge and harnessing his power. He'd barely noticed as the days passed and he began performing harder, more complex spells and curses. The result was that he was now the darling of all of his proffessors - except for the one he'd met first, Dumbledore - and they were always lavishing him with praises and good marks. Slughorn kept guaranteeing him admission to his Slug Club - Tom didn't exactly care. Marks were good in the short run, but he was focussed on long-term goals. The teachers treat him as well as they wanted, but as far as he cared, they might as well not even have noticed him.

Absent-mindedly tapping his wand against the book, he let his eyes run over the text books piled on his bed. All of his homework was done, extra reading and research was done... He had time to do whatever he wished. And he knew what he wanted to do.

Ever since he'd stepped into Hogwarts, that damned poltergeist, Peeves, had been giving him a hard time. The ghost's behaviour was strange, but extremely irritating. Peeves had never attacked him head on as he did to the other students. In his case, the ghost preferred to give him contemplating, wary looks when he thought Tom wasn't looking and dart away, only to attack (or attempt to attack) the young Slytherin from behind. It was incredibly annoying. Yesterday, Tom had demanded that the Baron do something about it. The Baron had promised Tom that he would tell Peeves to stay away from him, but Peeves had a tendancy of breaking the Baron's rules when the Baron himself wasn't present.

So Tom had a job - do something to exorcise Peeves or do something else to send the poltergeist into the deepest bowels of hell.

He pondered this for about two seconds before the dorm room's door banged open and anguished screams flooded the chamber. Abraxas Malfoy was led screaming into room by Tarquin Parkinson and Ian Goyle. Vincent Crabbe followed closely behind.

Tom was suddenly angered by this sudden outburst of noise and he tossed his book onto his bed before turning to his roommates, eyes flashing. "What the hell happened?!" he demanded.

Parkinson and Goyle moved away from Malfoy and Tom saw that the blonde was covered with red boils, most of which had burst and were oozing disgusting yellow vile.

"Timothy Weasley," Crabbe said in answer to Tom's question.

Ah. That was what happened.

Timothy Weasley was a Gryffindor in their year. He and Malfoy were always getting into scuffles, but Tom wasn't particularly fond of him either. It wasn't that Tom sided with Malfoy because he liked him - far from it. It was because Tom detested everything Weasley was and everything he stood for - truth, justice and the Gryffindor way, _gag me_. Or, better yet, gag _him _- Weasley would be the lesser loss and Tom doubted he'd be the only one who'd be glad to see him go.

However, Weasley had proven to be a rival to Tom. He wasn't nearly as intelligent, but they'd had a heated duel out in the grounds over some such thing or another, and Tom had found it a challenge to take the other boy down. Most boys he'd delt with in the short month he'd been here had all gone down _quickly_. Timothy hadn't won their fight, but he hadn't lost either - the sudden appearance of Slughorn had forced the duel to a draw. Not that Tom had suffered more during the actual confrontation.

"Why did you bring him here?!" Tom snapped over Malfoy's loud groans. "Take him to the hospital wing - "

"No!" Malfoy suddenly groaned.

Tom scowled at the interruption before raising his wand at Malfoy. A quick spell and Malfoy was suddenly mute. "Fine, stay here," Tom growled. "But shut the hell up or I'll give your _boils _boils!"

Malfoy glowered briefly at him before nodding curtly. He jumped into his bed and pulled the curtains around him so that he could lick his wounds in privacy. Tom then shot the other three boys in the room a dark glare that easily yelled "Scat!" and they all quickly dissolved to their own beds or to some other parts of the castle.

Tom inwardly nodded in satisfaction before returning to his own bed. In little more than a month at Hogwarts, the orphaned Half-blood ran the show in the dorms and the common room full of pure bloods. Quite an achievement.

He didn't dwell on this though. He'd never doubted his own self-worth and he wasn't too surprised at the dominance he wielded.

Tom pulled the curtains around him before laying down on the bed, upper half of his body against the headboard. He spotted his new book and picked it up. He had something to write in it now. A list of ways to hurt Weasley.

**#1**, he wrote. And started to ponder about plans. As he did, something caught his eye. The pound sign and the number had started twitching on the page. As he watched, one eyebrow raised in curiosity, the figures disappeared.

Tom stared, wondering what had just happened. As he prepared to write something else to see what would happen, neat, graceful handwriting appeared on the page.

_Hello?_

Tom stopped short.

_May I ask who I am talking to?_

The book _talked_.

Suspicious, yet curious, Tom brought his quill to the page.

**Tom Marvolo Riddle**

_May I call you Tom?_

**I don't see a problem with that**, Tom wrote back, quickly. **What is this?**

_This book?_

**Yes. Who are you?**

_Regina._ A pause. Then _V. _appeared beside the name. _Regina V._

"Regina," Tom said quietly, trying the name out. It was an unusual name, but he liked it. Still, it wasn't common. **That is your name?**

_It is a name._

Tom frowned. **What does 'a' name mean?**

_It is what I'm known as. My title. It is not, however, the name my parents bestowed upon me when I was born._

**I see. A nickname then?**

_Very much so._

**What does the V stand for?**

_It's my initial. I cannot tell you the name. At least, not now. You do not even know my first name._

Tom furrowed his eyebrows. He was a little annoyed, but intrigued. **Then tell me that first.**

_You're a smart boy, Tom._

Tom raised an eyebrow, wondering what that was supposed to mean. Her next line answered his unasked question.

_You tell me._

Tom was almost annoyed at this, but he wasn't. On the contrary, he smirked, accepting the challenge. At first, he thought her initials may be TMR, and started running names through his head... Titania, Mary, etc. All at once, he noticed that every name he'd conjured were names of queens. He decided it was because Regina was Latin for queen... Did the V mean 5? The fifth queen of something? No, no - it was her initial. But it seemed strange that she wouldn't tell him what it stood for. It was seemed like the odd letter out of a name, left to itself on the page.

With that thought, Tom's eyes narrowed as something clicked.

**Ginevra.**

The answer didn't come quickly. And then: _Yes. But... how?_

**You hid the name of a queen behind the Latin word for queen. Very clever**, he added with honesty. He smirked, pleased with his accomplishment. Ginevra, he thought. It was even better than Regina.

_Your level of intelligence is astounding. How old are you?_

**11**

_Such wit at such a young age._

**How old are you?**

_I don't have an age, Tom. I've travelled back and forth through time in this book._

**I've never read about or heard of any books like this.**

_Only two have ever been made. This one was made by myself._

**You made this book? How?**

_I was once a witch, Tom. What I am now is just a small sliver of my soul that I - or she - put here to... Shall we say - preserve my memory._

Preserve her memory? **Where are you now? I mean, the rest of you?**

_Not alive._

**I see.** He thought it was interesting how people could reserve their memories in books, instead of paintings or portraits. Perhaps it was the same magic? But if that was it, why was it that only two have ever done this? **Who else did this?**

_He was a powerful wizard._

**His name?**

_I can not say. He was so powerful, the world fears to speak or write his name. He wanted that - it was an ambition of his. I can not deny him._

**Is there a way I can find out?**

_If you are ever fortunate or unfortunate enough to meet him, Tom, you'll know it's him._

Tom read her words, growing more and more intrigued by the moment. He wanted to know who this wizard was... Who could be so powerful that the world feared to speak his name? **Did you know him?**

_Quite well._

**How?**

_My lord and master._

**Did he teach you this?**

_Yes._ Ginevra paused before continuing. The 'Yes' had almost disappeared from the page before her next words appeared. _This magic is so strong and dark. Very, very few would be able to manage it._

**I would.** Tom had written the words before he'd even realized he was doing it. The reaction was natural for him - he wasn't rated second best at anything. Anything anybody could do, he could do better.

_I've no doubt._

Tom raised an eye-brow at her response. He would have expected her to be angry or, at the very least, amused at such a statement coming from an eleven-year-old. **Don't you?**

_I can already sense that you're a powerful wizard, Tom. You have already proven yourself as an intelligent individual, just as he is._

**I have? **Tom thought for a second. **By figuring out your nickname?**

_Yes. My Lord gave it to me._

Tom was pleased about this. It was something to figure out a puzzle that was developed by an all-powerful wizard.

_Tom?_

**Yes.**

_I sense that you are pleased._

**I am.**

_That wasn't what I had sensed when you first started writing. You seemed quite angry. Tell me, what was wrong?_

**There is a boy in my class named Timothy Weasley. I was going to write a list of ways I could kill him.**

_He must have done something terrible. What happened?_

Tom proceeded to tell Ginevra about his problems with Timothy Weasley. As he wrote, she was very sympathetic and shared his views regarding the Gryffindor. He finished his written tirade against Weasley and waited for a reply.

_As awful as he sounds, I must ask you not to kill him. _Before Tom could demand why, Ginevra continued. _Making him live a life of torment has its charms, wouldn't you say, Tom? Wouldn't humiliations here or there satisfy your thirst for his blood?_

**No.** Tom's answer was prompt and more of a calm statement than an angry reaction.

_I'd thought not._

Tom thought she might have been laughing a little as she wrote that. He found that he didn't mind it though.

_It wouldn't do to have you kicked out of school and off to Azkaban for murder. You are at Hogwarts, correct?_

**Yes.**

_House of Slytherin?_

**How did you know?**

_You're intelligent, witty, ambitious... _Ginevra paused again. Then her next words appeared on the page. _You're evil._

Tom smirked. **Of course.**

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A/N

Creatress: Eh? Eeeehhhhhhhh??

Tom & Gin: ...

Creatress: And there's the first chapter of my first ever AU TMRGW.

REVIEW!!! (Please:-) )


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer – I own nothing of the HP books or whatever associated, blada blada blada, you know the drill…

xXxXxXxXxXx

Author's Note:

Creatress: Second TMRGW!!

Tom: You didn't finish Circles yet.

Creatress: So...?

Ginny: Will you?

Creatress: ... ... ... Just shut up and read this!

luv

The Almighty Creatress

xXxXxXxXxXx

The Regina

Chapter 1

_You're upset._

Ginevra's answer appeared on the crisp, white page as soon as Tom angrilly flipped the book open.

**I know you can sense what I'm feeling, Ginevra - point out that the sky is blue, as well, why don't you?! **

Tom's handwriting was solid and thick as he pressed his quill into the paper in rage. He was in a black mood and most people stayed at least ten feet away from him when he was like this, but unfortunately for his diary, that wasn't an option. In the past five days that he'd started talking to her, Ginevra had been the one to listen - or read or whatever she did in there - to his rants about whatever he was angry at. Never before, however, had he snapped at _her_.

_Whatever it was that angered you, Tom, you won't fix it by punishing __me_

Tom's eyes narrowed dangerously, but a part of him stopped short. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right.

_Tell me what happened and let's see if I can't help you._

**I don't need your help.** It was true - he didn't. Sure, she had been an aid for the past few days when he was curious about something he'd read about or come across in school work, but if she didn't exist, he could have looked it up in another book. He had never been dependant on anyone and wasn't about to start now.

Even when he'd been a newborn baby - he had never cried. The lack of wails from him had ended in a great situation for him - Mrs. Cole and the others who ran his orphanage didn't pay much attention to him. However, they'd loved to point him out as an example to the other children who made fusses and threw temper tantrums over trivial matters.

_"Look at how quiet Tom is." "Tom never cries."_ Everything was said in the positive sense, though it was never said directly to him. It was only to other children in a lame attempt to make them quite down and stop fussing. Also, he was pointed out to board members as a model child:

_"Tom never gets into trouble - he's such a good boy."_

'Oh, no - Tom gets into trouble, he just never gets caught. He's actually quite _evil,_' Tom had always thought every time he heard the line.

From when he was a small child to the boy he was now, he had spent all of his time alone, only spending any time in the company of the other children during mealtimes and that was only because he was forced to. The greatest thing about it was that he never had to explain his actions to anyone - what he did alone, where he went, who he talked to (not that he'd talked to anyone... except for maybe a few reptilians). For the most part, he'd stayed to himself and had been independant. He'd just grown to seeing dependance as a weakness - if you couldn't stand on your own two legs, than you shouldn't stand.

He was just about to tell Ginevra this when words appeared on the page.

_Will you tell me anyway?_

**Why should I?**

_Where else will you vent?_

**I have my ways. **Pretend that an object is Dumbledore. Blow said object to smithereens.

There was a pause. And then: _Tom, you are so stubborn._

**You are, as well.**

_Forgive me._

Tom calmed at these words. After a few seconds, he brought his quill to the page again. **I found a spell to turn blood into water. ** He stopped writing and waited for Ginevra to respond, but she didn't. Obviously, she was waiting for him to continue. ** I was in the library, and I'd only finished reading about it when Dumbledore appeared out of nowhere and made me give the book to him. He said it was a dark book, and not one a first year should be meddling with. He gave me a warning and left with it. It annoys me to no end that he treats me like I'm a child.**

_It must be frustrating. You want to reach your potential and do as much as you can, but you're restricted._

**Exactly.**

_It makes no sense, actually - shielding people from the Dark Arts just because they're too "young." You have the mind to understand it, so you should be able to study it._

Tom took a deep breath and relaxed against his pillow and headboard. His anger was fading away and his tone was a little more grateful when he replied. **Nobody understands me like you do, Ginevra.**

_Thank you, Tom._

**I still wish I could find out how to do that spell, though. If only Dumbledore had appeared five minutes later than he did.**

_Why did you want to turn blood into water?_

**It seems like a pretty **_**useful **_**spell, wouldn't you say?**

_Tom, you surprise me. It sounds to me like you're planning to spill someone's blood and clean up the crime scene._

**Perhaps.** Tom replied, enigmatically. As much as he enjoyed talking to her, he wasn't sure if he could trust her. He kept the diary at the bottom of his trunk and there was no reason why anybody would go rummaging down there, but what if something were to happen in the future and the diary ended up in the hands of someone else? Namely Weasley or Dumbledore?

_Tom, Tom, Tom..._ Her tone was lightly chiding, Tom thought. _Why turn the blood into water? A simple "evanesco" should get rid of it altogether._

**What?** Tom had never heard of this before.

_Evanesco, Tom._ Diagrams of wand movements followed.

Entranced, Tom studied the wand movements and memorized Ginevra's step-by-step instructions to make something disappear. He then pulled out a tiny piece of parchment and placed it before him and then pulled out his wand. Glancing at the diary one last time, he performed the spell and the parchment promptly disappeared. Smirking, he turned back to the diary. **It worked!**

_Good. It's so much more convenient than turning things into water._

**I agree.**

_I'm glad. How was your day?_

**The usual. Nothing special happened today. Just classes and more work. That idiot Weasley managed to blow up something in Slughorn's class, though - that entertained me for a few minutes.**

_Oh?_

**Yes. Blue slime **_**everywhere **_**- his red hair looked silver, though, for some reason. It was amusing.**

_I'm sure it was. I don't understand why his hair turned silver though? I have red hair and the last time I got blue in it, it turned purple._

Tom looked contemplatively at the book. **You have red hair?**

_Yes._

**I've never pictured you as a real witch before.** Tom tilted his head as he studied the page. He had never thought of her as a person before and it was hard for him to picture her a woman with red hair. The mental image he'd gotten was the diary with red strands sprouting out of the cover. Tom shook the thought away and wrote again.** What do you look like?**

_I have long red hair. I'm slim... _She stopped writing. Tom was about to ask her why she'd stopped when her next words appeared on the paper. _Why don't I show you instead?_

**Show me? ** Tom eyed her, curiously. **How?**

_You may come in here for a while. All it takes is a spell by myself and a drop of your blood._

Tom thought about this for a second. Going into a diary with a girl he'd met only a few days ago didn't strike him as the most intelligent thing he could do, but on the other hand, he hadn't detected anything dangerous about her. Also, he was quite curious to see what she looked like in person.

**What should I do?**

_Flip to the first page and just let one single drop of your blood on it. It doesn't matter where you make the cut. I'll cast the spell and your blood will create a doorway for you. Touch it with your left, index finger and you'll be here._

**How would I leave?**

_I have my own copy of this diary with me, Tom. Touch the doorway from this side and you'll return._

**Why don't you just come out here then?**

_Only someone with a whole soul can enter and leave like this._

Tom thought for a second. Making his decision, he wrote **Okay.**

A little nervously, he reached into his trunk and pulled out a small, silver knife he'd bought in Diagon Alley. For half a second, he hesitated, but his sense of curiosity quickly overtook his sense of caution and he made the smallest nick on the fleshy part of his left hand. The cut grew crimson with his blood and Tom returned the knife to its place before turning his cut palm to the book. A drop of blood fell onto the white page and instantly turned black. The spot expanded and shaped to become a small rectangle, rather like a doorway. Tom touched it.

The world went black.

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Tom started when he suddenly found himself in a large room. It was lavishly decorated with rich wooden furniture and cream-coloured, silk sheets - a four poster king sized bed, dresser, mirror... It was lit with a few candles, but what still quite dark. There was a large window to one side that revealed a cloudy night sky, but what Tom noticed was green velvet window seat. Or more, specifically, the girl sitting on it.

She looked to be about eleven, with long red hair that came halfway down her back, and a pale freckled face. She was wearing a black, pleated skirt with a fullsleeved blue and black top. A book was open in her lap and there was a quill in her right hand. Her eyes were brown and they were fixed on him as he studied her. The expression on her face wasn't readable, but her eyebrows seemed to be twitching just the tiniest bit... But it was gone the instant he saw the movement. Suddenly, her pink lips stretched into a smile.

"Tom," she said. She inclined her head toward him before shutting the book and placing it on the window seat. Tom could see the letters TMR on the cover. "It's good to see you in person." She put the quill down as well and stood up.

Tom looked at her. "Ginevra," he stated. It wasn't really a question - who else could this be?

Ginevra gave a short bow and grinned. "The one and only," she giggled. "Would you like to sit down?" She gestured toward a couch set at the other end of the room and started walking toward it.

"I suppose," Tom muttered. He followed her and sat down in the armchair and after he sat, she perched on the loveseat. "Somehow, I expected you to be older."

Ginevra shrugged. "I could appear in any form that I had growing up," she replied. She looked at him, eyes questioning as she searched his face for a aeaction. "I just thought this would please you the most."

"I see," Tom said. He eyed her. She was _cute_. There wasn't really another word for it. She didn't seem old enough to be considered "beautiful," but her childlike features were attractive, nontheless. But there was also something else to her... She was young and this was accompanied by an air of mischieviousness, especially in her smile and in her sparkling brown eyes. But there was something else about her... aura, for lack of a better word, that just didn't seem to suit her...

Ginevra raised her eyebrows. "Doesn't it?"

"It does," Tom answered. Then thought for a second. "Actually, I don't think it really matters... But I suppose I would be more comfortable spending time with someone my own age than with an older woman."

"That's what I'd thought," Ginevra mused out loud. She look at him rather curiously for a second before turning away. "Tea?" she asked, conjuring up a tea set.

Tom shrugged. "Why not?" It was more of a statement than a question and it invoked a small smile from the girl.

"So you were telling me about Weasley?" Ginevra asked, as she leant over the cups and dishes and set about preparing two cups.

"I've finished talking about that git. If I keep going, I wouldn't be able to resist leaving to strangle that idiot!" Tom suddenly snapped. He suddenly seemed to hear himself and his outburst and sunk back into the armchair, scowling viciously.

Ginevra looked up at him. "Tom? Did something happen?"

"No," Tom muttered, dejectedly.

Ginevra studied him for a second and she put the teapot down. "You know you can tell me, Tom - whatever happens here stays here."

Tom stared at her for a long moment, internally debating with himself, before finally asking her, "Are you pure blooded, Ginevra?"

Ginevra raised her eyebrows before nodding. "Yes."

"I'm not." His voice was hard as steel.

"I see," Ginevra said.

Tom studied her carefully to watch her reaction. He could not tell what she was thinking, but her calm reaction didn't bother him. Obviously, she wasn't someone like Malfoy or some of the others who looked down on Half-bloods... Or used to, anyway. His own power had shown the other Slytherins that Half-bloods can be just as powerful, if not moreso than Purebloods. Mudbloods however? Tom couldn't defend them - he wasn't one and had there ever been a mudblood who'd done anything great in history?

"Does it bother you?" she suddenly asked.

Tom scowled. "Does what bother me?"

"Being..." Ginevra's voice trailed off. "What are you then?"

"I think I'm half-blooded," Tom muttered. "I'm not sure."

"Why is that?" she asked, her voice soft.

"If you must know," Tom growled. "I was born at an orphanage. My mother's name was Merope Riddle - she was a witch."

Ginevra nodded and stood up. "Keep going," she said. It wasn't really a command, however - it was more of an encouragement. She started walking around the coffee table between them to where he was sitting and Tom suddenly figured out what didn't fit with her.

Ginevra walked gracefully, but her steps and the way she held herself were very... sure. Very... imperious, almost. It was a little out of sync with her personality - while she was definitley older than him, she didn't _act _like she was superior to him. She acted... differently.

"What are you doing?" Tom suddenly asked as she stopped behind his chair.

"You're tense, Tom - I'm just going to massage you and you go on with whatever troubled you," Ginevra said.

Tom turned to face her, and raised an eyebrow at her.

"I'll stop if you don't like it," Ginevra offered.

"Fine," Tom murmured. He leaned back against the couch and soon felt Ginevra's small hands on his shoulders. She pressed them into his blades, running her hands in varying patterns along his shoulders, his neck, the top of his back. He soon started to relax and his anger drifted away. "Timothy Weasley is pureblooded."

"Correct me if I'm mistaken - " Ginevra interrupted, then paused for a second. "Aren't all Gryffindors... Well, most of them... Blood traitors?"

"Yes," Tom mumbled.

"Go on, then."

"Malfoy and Weasley got into a... debate, let's call it, about blood superiority. Weasley decided to accuse the Slytherin house of hypocricy and pointed out that I was Half-blooded. Then compared that fact to the one that he's pureblooded." Tom finished his story, still feeling completely relaxed. Not at all how he usually felt after talking about his ancestry.

"Is that what bothered you?" Ginevra mused. Her hands left his shoulders and she stepped around in front of him again.

Tom didn't answer and chose to simply regard her as she walked to the fireplace which was close by. As he watched her, he suddenly saw what he'd wondered about the first time he laid eyes on her.

Ginevra moved gracefully, with a sense of... Imperiousness? Regality? Her posture and walk didn't quite suit her childish body. Of course, she was was much older in her "true form."

The redhead stared into the yellow-white fire before turning to face him. She rested her right arm's elbow in the hand of her left and her right hand was clutched around the golden pendant of a necklace she wore. She twisted it between her fingers and moved it along its chain as she thought and Tom, for some reason or another, watched this movement as she spoke.

"That blood into water spell was meant for Weasley, then?"

Tom didn't answer, but gave her a small smirk.

Ginevra sighed in exasperation, but the corner of her mouth quirked. "Tom... You meant to turn his blood into water? He'd die."

"It would have shut him up, however," Tom stated. "That was the point."

"Tom, you _are _evil," Ginevra murmured.

"We've established that already, Ginevra." He smirked nonetheless. "I do love to be reminded it of it, though," he added, his tone almost joking. Almost.

Ginevra eyed him. "A little rough around the edges, however."

Tom's eyebrow shot up. "Rough around the edges?" he asked, voice low and even.

Ginevra looked at him pointedly. "As amusing as turning someone's blood into water may sound, it wouldn't have been so smart, would it?" she asked.

Tom didn't answer. She was right - that spell seemed to be traceable and he most likely would have been caught.

"Not only would you have been caught," Ginevra suddenly said. "There wouldn't have been much use in a death like that, would there?"

Tom frowned. "Use?"

Ginevra looked him in the eye. "Oh, Tom, you know nothing about the true depth of the Dark Arts. Senseless killing by itself can be entertaining and it may solve a problem, I'll give you that, but there's so much more." Her eyes took on a faraway look and turned from him to the window. "There's power to be had. Power that comes out of pain, suffering and death. Spilled blood," she suddenly murmured. Her eyes snapped back to him. "You will never get it out of the Hogwarts curriculum. I'll give you the books you'll need and I'll be a guide. I can show you things you'd never even dreamed about - things that have caused nightmare after nightmare in the sleep of many over the past thousands of years. I can show you what true killing, true death, can really do for you." She took a step toward him. "Will you let me, Tom?"

Tom didn't even hesitate. "Yes."

"Good," Ginevra stated. She stepped up until she was directly infront of him and looked at him, seriously. "I ask for one thing in return. Will you give it to me, Tom?"

"What is it?" Tom asked.

Ginevra smiled a little. "All I ask is... For now, spare Weasley."

"Why?" Tom asked, viciously, eyes narrowing.

"He was the one who insulted you, but he was also the one who drove you to me today," Ginevra said. "Don't you think he deserves a reward?" Before Tom could answer, she continued. "His reward could be a death by your hand. A real death. That would empower you." She looked at him, and smiled. "What do you think?"

Tom smirked up at her. "You're asking for a lot, Ginevra," he said. He was bluffing - what she was saying sounded terribly tempting, but he wanted to know how far he could push her.

Ginevra smiled sweetly at him for a second before taking one final step closer to him and then getting down on her knees. When she looked back up at him, the smile was gone and her chocolate brown eyes were intense. She took his left hand in both of hers and looked at it before looking back up at him.

Tom eyed her, curiously. He felt his heart hammering against his chest, but his attention was fully captured by the girl infront of him.

"If you spare him now," Ginevra whispered, her voice low and what any adult would have called _sultry_. "I promise you, not only his death by your hands, but his sons' deaths and his grandsons' deaths." She paused for a second and glanced at his hand again, briefly licking her lower lip before turning back to face him. "And his granddaughter as your slave. For eternity."

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A/N

REVIEW!!! (Please? I'll give you a cookie!)


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer – I own nothing of the HP books or whatever associated, blada blada blada, you know the drill…

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Author's Note:

Creatress: Okay, so I've decided to do a little pattern.

Gin: Oh?

Creatress: I'll update this and Circles one after another.

Gin:...Time limits?

Creatress:... ... About that...

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The Regina

Chapter 3

First year whizzed by quickly. By himself, Tom was able to earn excellent marks in class and his performance was only enhanced by Ginevra's guidance. She made his studies more interesting, and her presence made everything more efficient. Instead of spending maybe hours looking up information in the library, Tom had grown to trust her enough to take her word for answers to his questions. His teachers were amazed and were, now more than ever, treating him as a prodigy. They openly encouraged him with whatever project he was on and were always ready to go out of their way to help in any way possible.

Except Dumbledore. While the transfiguration professor regularly congratulated Tom on his achievements and awarded him the great marks he deserved, the old man continued to look at him strangely. It was almost as if he suspected the boy was getting help.

Not that it would have mattered. Tom doubted his circumstances in school would have been much different if Ginevra hadn't appeared in his life.

His mind and powers outside of the curriculum, however...

Tom admitted it to himself that he owed Ginevra a lot. The things she taught him could not be found even in some of the books of the Restricted Section - he knew because he'd used the disillusionment charm she'd taught him to sneak into the library at night. After seeing how disappointing the Restricted Section truly was, he'd opted to simply stick to the books at Ginevra's house.

On his second visit, which was a few weeks after his first, she'd shown him the library. It wasn't quite as big as the Hogwarts library, but quality far outweighed quantity. He wanted to read every single one of the books she owned... However, it wasn't quite possible because he could only go for once every few weeks. His trips drained her of energy and used up some of the books' magic, so he didn't visit often.

When he did go to her, they usually studied - or rather, he studied and she tutored - in the library itself insteading of trekking down the corridor to the study. Sometimes they stayed in her boudoir. She would find some spell or another that would be of use to him and teach him about it and help him hone his dark skills. After the lessons, they talked.

Tom was quickly finding it easier and easier to talk to her. About his life, his past, and most importantly, his plans for the future. She listened carefully, hanging on his every word, and encouraged him.

This went on through first year and throughout the summer. Three months into the second year, Tom mentioned something to her.

_Oh, Merlin... You're a parselmouth, Tom. This is __incredible_

Tom stared at the words and gulped a little. **Can I talk to other animals or just snakes?** with as much indifference as he could muster.

_'Just' snakes? Tom, I don't believe you understand the magnitude of this. Did you know Slytherin was parselmouth as well?_

Tom stopped short. He had not known that.

_How could you not have told me this? This is... This... There's no word for it..._

**Slytherin was parselmouth?**

_Yes._

**Are many wizards able to speak to snakes?**

_I know of two others. One was completely undeserving of the gift, and attained it by accident._

**Who was he?**

_It doesn't even matter; the boy was so insignificant. The other, however, was my own master._

Tom almost sighed out loud. He looked around the second year boys' common room. It was completely empty and he liked it this way when he spoke to Ginevra. He would not be disturbed if he was alone with her. **I wish you would tell me his name.** For the last year and two months that he'd known her, Ginevra had referred to her lord a lot and made him out to be almost godlike. Almost. As much as she might revere him, she wasn't hesitant to admit that he had problems. Problems similar to Tom's own shortcomings. Both, for example, had a habit of dismissing anything they deemed unworthy of their time and attention and this mistake catches up with them in time.

_Is his name so important?_

**If it's so insignificant, why won't you tell me?**

Ginevra didn't reply for a moment. And then: _I shall think about it._

Tom almost groaned in exasperation and irritation. Right.

_There's something else, though... Parseltongue is hereditary._

Tom's back stiffened and his heart started hammering as her next words appeared on the page.

_Perhaps you're related to Slytherin?_

**You think...?**

_It's possible._

**Was your master?**

_Yes. We were never sure how, though._

**Ginevra?**

_Yes?_

**There's a book about Hogwarts and it says**

Ginevra interrupted him. _The legend of the Chamber of Secrets?_ She'd read his mind.

**Do you believe it?**

_Yes._

Tom thought for a second. **What should I do?**

Ginevra's words appeared immediately.

_Find it. Open it._

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Seven months later...

Tom walked around the dungeons, feeling like he was slowly losing his mind. If Slytherin had put a secret chamber somewhere, its entrance should be _here_. Everything about the dungeons screamed Slytherin - their common room was down there, Slytherin's favourite subject was taught down there... The place even reflected his personality and demenour - cold, dark and dangerous. Everything about it...

"Tom?"

Tom flinched. Maybe not everything. He turned around to see his potions professor. "Professor?"

Slughorn smiled jovially. "It's near curfew, Tom. You should go back to the common room."

Tom almost groaned out loud in frustration. A thought struck him then. "Professor, I was wondering about something?"

"Oh?"

Tom braced himself. "The Chamber of Secrets."

Slughorn's smile vanished instantly and he regarded Tom with a questioning expression. "Excuse me?"

Tom put on the most innocent face he could muster. "I was curious about it, Sir, it seemed fascinating."

Slughorn smiled a little, but Tom caught the calculating expression in his eyes. It was just a shadow, but it was there. For the first time ever, Tom could finally see a bit of whatever the Sorting Hat had seen when he'd placed Slughorn in Slytherin. "It was just a myth, Tom," Slughorn said. "I highly doubt it actually exists. More than anything, it was just probably a final attempt by our great founder to keep Gryffindor from letting muggleborns into the school."

"You're saying it was an empty threat," Tom stated.

"Well, Slytherin was never one who made empty threats," Slughorn amended. "But it seems highly improbable, even for the wizarding world. A secret chamber that houses a monster? That only an heir can control? There is no monster that could sense things like genetics and obey a person based on who their parents were. Besides, no monster could have survived so long..." He shook his head. He then looked at Tom evenly. "You should get to the common room, Tom, it's getting very close to curfew." He then broke into a wide grin. "I wouldn't want you getting into any trouble. You'll be joining the Slug Club in a few years, no doubt."

Tom forced a smile and nodded. "Good evening then, sir."

"Good evening."

Tom turned away and rolled his eyes as soon as he did. _Slug Club_. He walked back to the common room, almost ready to burst with anger. He did not want to tell Ginevra that he'd failed again. He'd been looking for the past seven months and if he didn't find it within the next few days, he wouldn't have another chance until summer ended. Perhaps he could ask if he could stay the summer...?

When he got up to his room, he was nearly bombarded with talk by his roommates. He scowled blackly at all of them and the other boys quickly retreated, seeing that he was in a foul mood. He grudgingly got into bed, pulled his curtains around him and cast a silencing charm just for the sake of it. They could not hear _writing_ - some of them were too dense to hear and register even anything meant to be heard and registered - but extra cautions never hurt anybody.

He got the book out of his trunk and opened it.

_Will you come in here, Tom?_ Ginevra's appeared as soon as he flipped the cover back. Sometimes he wondered if she waited up for him to pick up the book. _You haven't visited in a while._

Tom thought for a second. He hadn't... He'd seen her... Six months ago?! **I hadn't realized it'd been so long. I've been busy.**

_Searching for the Chamber?_

**Yes.**

_At least I've been cast aside for something worth while._ Tom imagined a feigned pout on her lips at this point and allowed himself a small smile._ Are you busy now?_

**No, it's only 8:00. All of my work is done. I can come.**

_Good. You're only thirteen, Tom, you must relax a little._

**There's no rest for the wicked.**

_There is for the truly evil._

Tom smirked to himself before flipping to the first page. The dark rectangle sat in the middle of the page, waiting for his touch and, suddenly looking forward to seeing her, he placed his finger on it.

When he appeared in Ginevra's bedroom, he didn't immediately spot her. Just as he was about to turn around, two hands covered his eyes.

Tom almost laughed out loud. "I know it's you, Ginevra, who else would it be?"

"I know," came Ginevra's soft, playful voice from behind him. "It's still fun though."

Tom reached up and grabbed her hands but didn't pull them away from his face. "In all seriousness, you act like a child sometimes."

"I'm very much a child, Tom. You - " Her voice was a little accusing. " - are too much of an adult."

"One of us has to be the mature one," Tom said, feeling a little wierd for saying it. How old was she really? But he thought she might be insulted if he asked, so he brushed the question off. "Let me go," he said instead.

"Your wish is my command."

Her hands moved away from his eyes and Tom turned around and suddenly felt a resounding thud in his chest when he saw her. He vaguely took note of the fact that she looked different as most of his mind wondered what had just made his chest churn. The feeling was gone as soon as it came so he turned back to her and raised an eyebrow. "You look different," he remarked, eyeing her. She was wearing a black summer dress, her hair flowing in curls around her face and about her shoulders, skin white and smooth... Some of her freckles were missing - but that wasn't it.

Ginevra raised her eyebrows. "Do I?" The corner of her lips quirked a little as she glanced down at herself. "This is how I looked at thirteen. I don't _think _I look much different from when I was _twelve_." Tom eyed her, taking her singsong voice in, a little warily. _Girls_. He didn't have much time to ponder on it though, because Ginevra was looking at him, expectantly. "How is the search for the Chamber coming along? You've missed many face-to-face lessons for it."

The Slytherin scowled. She'd been writing him notes on some spells, but they got the most work done when he actually visited her. He hadn't done that once in the last six months because he'd been busy searching for that damned chamber, and he had nothing to show for all the time he'd put into it. "I haven't found it," he grumbled. She didn't look surprised, he noticed. "Do you think I ever will?"

Ginevra sighed, looking away from him. Her right hand came up to grasp the pendant of the gold necklace she always wore beneath her top, and she started running it along its chain, the way she usually did when she was thinking deeply. Tom stared at her hand as she moved it - he didn't know why, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from her hand and her pendant whenever she did this. "I want you to find it, Tom. I think you may - you're one of the smartest people I have known, even for your age." She paused. "But the thing is - and it depresses me to note this - the other three founders spent years looking for it and they never found a clue." Her hand stopped moving and Tom's eyes flicked to her face. "Of course, none of them were _related _to him..."

"We don't know if I am," Tom muttered, lowly.

Ginevra's eyes were earnest then. "Your mother may have been, if she was pureblooded. All of their families are interrelated."

"Perhaps Malfoy should be looking for it then," Tom said, suddenly feeling frustrated and dejected.

The redhead's eyes narrowed. "No," she said, firmly. "I asked you not to tell anyone you can talk to snakes for a reason. What if he tells his father and his father blabs it to the rest of the Wizarding World?" She shook her head. "The teachers'll follow your every step. You'll never get anything done."

Tom looked away. He supposed she was right. And if anybody were to find the Chamber, he'd rather that he be the one to do it. Abraxas Malfoy never said anything about being Parselmouth though, and he usually bragged about everything - even being able to cheat on a heavily weighted test. Malfoy might be related to Slytherin and he may have the same gift, but if that boy was the epidome of the stereotypical blonde (and Tom suspected that he was) and didn't know about it, it wasn't Tom's job to enlighten him.

"Don't lose sleep over it, Tom," Ginevra suddenly said. "You'll find it."

"How do you know?" Tom muttered, turning back to her. He sounded almost beaten and the girl before him gave him a confident look.

Ginevra placed a gentle, but firm hand upon his shoulder. "You'll find it," she repeated. Tom suddenly looked at her with a questioning look in his eyes. How was she so sure? Ginevra seemed to notice the way he was looking at her and her face relaxed as she smiled up at him. Suddenly, she reached up and pecked his cheek. Tom, who was obviously taken aback, was too focussed on the alarming amount of blood running to his head to hear her next words. "I know you will."

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A/N

Gin - Things are going rather slowly, aren't they?

Creatress - Dude, we got through a year in this chapter!!

Gin - No, I mean, where's the intimacy?

Creatress - ... : ... It's coming.

REVIEW!!!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer - I don't own HP or anything related.

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Author's Note:

Sorry this took so long… Yeah, I don't have much of an excuse… Except major, MAJOR writers' block.

luv

Creatress

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The Regina

Chapter 4

"But Tom, you must!"

Tom looked up from the book he was reading to scowl at Abraxas Malfoy. For half a second, he inwardly winced – the sunlight pouring in from the library window was reflecting off of his classmate's white blonde hair and it hurt his eyes. Tom frowned and momentarily cringed before bringing his mind to the matter at hand. "And why, pray tell, _must_ I?"

Abraxas look at him with a kind of desperation in his eyes. "If you don't join the team, Gryffindor will win our next match. Don't you see how humiliating it will be? So, you see, our house, Captain Bulstrode and I need you to join."

Tom almost rolled his eyes in exasperation. "We're in third year," he stated, waving his hand dismissively. "I'm sure that the upper year students on the team can handle it."

"Not since Wolfe had that accident in Potions a few weeks ago. He still can't move without screaming – they're thinking of transferring him to Mungo's. All the boys who've tried out for his Chaser's position are horrible," Abraxas explained.

"Why are you so intent on winning this one match? We've lost to them the last two years and you barely batted an eyelash," Tom pointed out.

Abraxas nodded, relenting. "I've made a few bets on this game."

Tom looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "And you expect me to go out and save your honour and your money? Do it yourself, Malfoy. Try out for Chaser yourself."

Abraxas frowned. "But you have better aim than me. You have better aim than anyone in our house, even Wolfe."

Tom shook his head and turned back to his book. "I must focus on my academic goals. I simply don't have the time."

The blonde sighed. "Fine. But I warn you, if you refuse to say yes to me now, you will have to bear Slughorn's relentless begging." Tom looked at him, surprised and Abraxas drilled ahead, knowing that he'd caught Tom's attention. "He has more time on his hands than I do. I daresay he would go on pleading and never, _ever_ give up until you agree."

Tom sighed and inclined his head. "I suppose you're right," he muttered. "Tell Bulstrode I'll do it."

"Thank you," Abraxas sighed, exhaling in relief. He quickly left before Tom could change his mind.

Tom tried to go on reading about the many Goblin rebellions throughout the ages, but found that he just could not concentrate anymore on history. He tried changing subjects, but his Transfigurations text didn't do much to hold his attention either. He flipped through the books in his bag and paused, his heart skipping a beat, as he came upon his diary. He frowned at his own reactions. "Pull yourself together," he muttered. "It wasn't that great a kiss anyway." He could imagine Ginevra's response if she'd heard that. _'If it wasn't that great a kiss, Tom, why are you still thinking about it?'_

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Tom packed away all of his books and stood from the table. Leaving the library, he walked around the castle for a bit, looking carefully around at the staircases, doors, windows… He frowned when one of the staircases shifted, wondering if the Chamber shifted like they did. With the windows and doors disappearing and reappearing, how would he ever find it?

He'd just turned onto a hallway which was less traveled by the staff and students when he almost bumped into someone. A rather large someone. Because of the gift of his grace, he was able to stop himself from falling over. His classmate, however, didn't possess the same qualities and landed on the floor in a huge heap. The towering boy got up and apologized, even though he'd barely touched Tom.

"Sorry there, Riddle. Really must watch where I'm going," Hagrid mumbled.

"It's fine," Tom answered, frowning as he looked at the half-giant. He was cradling something in his arms, something he was trying (with little success) to conceal with his robes. "What have you got there?"

"Nuthin," Hagrid said, quickly, drawing the object closer to his chest. "It's nuthin."

Tom eyed it. Judging by the streak of bluish white that was peeking out from under Hagrid's black robes and the oval shape Tom was able to make out, he guessed that it was an egg. It was probably an illegal animal – Hagrid always had some animal or another. However, it wasn't Tom's job to call him on it. He smirked a bit. "Fine, Hagrid. Whatever you say." He paused before reaching out and pulling Hagrid's robes over the bluish white that he'd spotted earlier. Maybe whatever it was would grow up and eat Dumbledore for breakfast one day.

Hagrid smiled and gave him a grateful look, but Tom barely acknowledged it as he turned and left the hallway. He wandered about a bit more, keeping a close eye on anything that might lead to the Chamber, before he finally grew tired and went to his dorm room.

He got into bed, pulling the curtains shut around him and cast the necessary charms. He then went through his back and took out his diary. Gulping a little, he flipped it open.

**I didn't find it.** He wrote, in a rather depressed style.

_Don't fret. You still have three and a half years._

**Only three when you minus the summers. Maybe I should ask if I can stay at the castle then.**

_They won't allow it. It's against the rules. Besides, if you did, you'd be the only student here and they'd watch you closely._

Tom paused before continuing, not really knowing what to say. **I can't concentrate on anything.** He wrote, carefully. Probably for the best not to let her know that she was the cause. Maybe she wouldn't ask -

_Why?_

**I don't know.** Tom replied, a little irritated.

_You've been working too hard, Tom._

**I must work hard. Exams are coming up.**

_Health is just as vital to do well._ Her words came quickly, like she was arguing a point.

Tom also started writing quickly, his words becoming blacker as he pressed the quill to the page in frustration. **There are only a few days left in the school year. Between exams and looking for the Chamber, I feel as if I want to **_**hurt**_** someone. There's too much to do and too little time to do it in. **He paused as he remembered something. Just as his most recent words started twitching, he brought his quill down to the paper again. **And now, I've been forced onto the House quidditch team as well.**

Ginevra took a few seconds to respond. _Firstly,_ _there are many days left in your school years. If not this year, the next then, but rest assured, you __will__ find it. Secondly, sure, go ahead and hurt someone. Just be discreet and make sure that it isn't life threatening._ A pause, and then: _I mean it, Tom, nothing life threatening._ Tom scowled at the page – _And don't look at me like that._ Tom blinked it confusion, wondering how she knew and then quickly figured that she just knew him well enough to know how he'd react. _Thirdly… _Another pause. _House team? Really? What position?_

**Chaser.**

_Wonderful. Lots of chances to throw a heavy ball at people you don't like._

Tom chuckled at her words. **How is it that someone who is so knowledgeable about the Dark Arts could also quickly see the bright side of a dark situation?**

_Whatever do you mean, Tom?_

Tom frowned in thought before continuing. **You are so optimistic about everything.**

Ginevra didn't respond for a second. And then, _Please explain?_

**For one thing, I complain about my issues with the chamber and you reassure me that I absolutely will find it. For another, I tell you about being stuck on the house quidditch team and you find the bright side of that as well.**

_As far as the Chamber goes, I honestly believe that you will find it. That's not optimism, Tom, I'm just trusting my instincts. As for my advice about your new quidditch position, that's just trying to look at a situation and trying to figure out how to approach it to your advantage and get the most out of it. If I was looking at the bright side, I would have told you to just play and have fun._

Tom smiled at her words, greatly comforted. **I suppose I shall go and continue studying then.**

_Remember to take care of yourself._

**Fine, fine.** Tom closed the book and picked up his history text again. As he started reading, he found it much easier to concentrate.

Tom was very busy with studying for his exams and practicing quidditch and managed to refrain from writing to Ginevra or looking for the Chamber until they were done.

The quidditch game came quickly and Tom scored twenty-one times within an hour into the game. He quickly took over Bulstrode's position of authority, constantly barking orders at his teammates. The Gryffindor seeker finally caught the snitch, but it didn't help because their Chasers had not managed to score once. The game ended 210 to 150 in Slytherin's favour. Later that day, Tom also had to endure an hour of Slughorn's pleading before the young boy's patience wore thin and he finally accepted a permanent place on the house team.

As soon as the last exam, which was set at a ridiculously late date – Transfigurations; it was amazing how Dumbledore always managed to mess up his plans – was done, it was time to pack. On the train ride home, Tom was unfortunately unable to find a compartment for himself. He'd managed to get rid of Malfoy, Parkinson and the others, but people kept traipsing through and he didn't want to risk any of them spotting his diary. Needless to say, Tom was very unhappy by the time he walked in front door at the orphanage.

He thought he could escape to his room quickly without being seen, but was unfortunately spotted by Sarah Cole.

"Tom!" she called, making the boy freeze.

Tom scowled in growing irritation, but wiped the look off his face and turned around with a neutral expression.

Mrs. Cole walked up to him, trying to balance a screaming two-year-old black-haired girl on her hip. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a bun and she wore a simple blouse and skirt. For a second, her amber eyes lingered on his face as she wondered what to say. "It's… It's good to have you home," she finally murmured.

Tom stared up at her, trying very hard not to snap. She was holding him back to tell him _this_? Inwardly taking a deep breath, he inclined his head, not making a comment. He couldn't agree with her.

Mrs. Cole fought an urge to rub her head in frustration and tried once again, like she had many times throughout the years, to reach out to the young man in front of her. "Do you need anything?"

Tom started to shake his head, but thought better of it. "I just need to sleep," he answered, his voice even. "I've had a busy day."

Mrs. Cole nodded, rubbing the back of the child she was holding. "Fine. Off you go then." Tom had turned around before she'd finished the sentence. As she watched him go, she sighed and back to the child in her arms as Tom disappeared into his room. Young Abigail had been crying non-stop for the last two hours and she was giving everyone a headache, but Mrs. Cole suddenly wished that Tom had cried as she did now. Maybe if she'd paid more attention to him when he was younger, he wouldn't act as a recluse did. However, before she could ponder any further on him, a volunteer ran up to her with a problem with another child and her attention was quickly diverted.

Tom quickly bolted the door and threw his things onto the floor beside his bed. He was usually a neat person, but he hadn't spoken to Ginevra for a long time and was impatient to hear from her. Besides, it wasn't as if anyone would barge in on him and make comments on the untidiness of his room. The younger children were too afraid of him, as were some of the older ones. Most of the brave older ones that Tom usually had a problem with were now most likely scattered throughout war-torn Europe, fighting in the name of king and country.

He took the diary, an inkwell and a quill out of his book bag and settled on the bed with them. He flipped the cover open and found that he hadn't needed the writing instruments. The black rectangle sat on the page, waiting for him. It seemed that Ginevra was anxious to see him in person. He touched the black mark and was immediately sucked in.

Ginevra greeted him with a soft smile. "It's been a long time," she stated, putting the diary down.

Tom gave her wry smirk. "I've been busy," he said, quirking a shoulder and trying to ignore the fast hammering of his heart. This was the first time he'd seen her since she kissed him.

She pouted and slumped back into the sofa she'd been sitting on. "I feel so neglected," she whined, softly.

"I am so sorry you feel that way," Tom muttered, looking rather bored. He sauntered over to the bookcase, starting to feel his heart rate going down. He told himself that it must have been the journey that must have set it beating so quickly in the first place. He was Tom Riddle – he didn't get nervous. Especially over some girl in a book.

"You don't look sorry," Ginevra stated, cuttingly.

"You don't look neglected," Tom said, pulling a text off the shelf. He turned and smirked at her for a half a second before turning away again. "You are a drama queen."

"As long as I'm the queen," Ginevra said, flippantly. She paused. "I had something really, really… useful… to show you…" She turned away when Tom turned to look at her. "But since you're being so mean…"

Tom sighed. "Fine. I apologize. Can you please tell me what it is?"

Ginevra shook her head and smirked at him. "That's not good enough, Tom," she said.

Tom stared evenly at her. "What is it?" he asked again.

Ginevra patted the cushion beside her, indicating that he should sit down.

Tom walked over and did so, all the while, eyeing her warily. There was something in her smile that made him nervous. "Well?" he asked.

The redhead smiled. "I thought that we could start on legilimency today," she said.

Tom inhaled sharply. "Legilimency? Really?" he asked, eyes narrowing. He'd wanted to learn it for ages, ever since he'd first read about the skill. However, the girl before him had always refused to teach him, claiming that he wasn't ready yet.

Ginevra nodded, looking serious and she brushed non-existent lint off her light blue robes before continuing. "Well, I was. Before you came in here with the attitude problem." She turned away toward the fire place, pulled out her necklace, and started to play with the pendant. "Not even a 'Hello, Haven't Seen You For A While' Kiss," she murmured, glancing at him with a reproachful expression.

Tom eyed her, especially the curve of her pale cheek, his heart rate quickening again. "What did you want?" he asked.

"A 'Hello, Haven't Seen You For A While' Kiss," Ginevra stated. She smiled slyly at him. "And a 'Sorry I Forgot the Hello, Haven't Seen You For A While' Kiss." She smirked before closing her eyes and turning so that her cheek faced him. There was a playful smile on her face.

Tom leaned in a bit, almost choking on the feeling on his heart in his throat. Her radiant skin looked so smooth and soft. Gulping a little bit, he quickly pressed his lips to her cheek. A small spark seemed to go through his lips and he all but jumped back.

Ginevra opened her eyes and smiled at him before turning the other way. "The second one?" she asked, quietly.

Feeling braver now, Tom kissed her other cheek, letting his lips linger for a second. Her skin felt as soft as it looked. He suddenly had an overwhelming urge to taste her, to lightly run his tongue across her jaw line. He inwardly started as the thought settled and turned away.

"Thank you," he heard Ginevra say. "Now I can teach you how to read minds."

Tom's eyes snapped back to meet hers. He was fully alert now and all thoughts of her skin left as his eyes took hold of her chocolate brown orbs. "What should I do?" he asked.

Ginevra smiled at his readiness. "This is very hard to explain, Tom," she said. "And it takes practice." She took his hand in hers and her voice grew a bit quiet. "Just look into my eyes. Focus on my eyes. Pay attention to nothing else. Clear your mind and look into mine."

Tom tried to do as she said. He stared into her large, brown eyes. His vision was focusing on her eyes – there was nothing else in the world as his eyes zeroed in on hers. First, he could only see her eyes, outlined by long, dark red lashes and accentuated by elegant brows. Then he could only see her seas of melted chocolate. Then just the deep black of her pupils. Black. He could only see black.

"What do you see?" Ginevra asked.

"Black," he told her.

"Good… What now?"

Nothing. Just the swirling darkness. "Nothing."

"Are you sure?" He could hear the frown in her voice.

Tom scowled and instantly found himself on the couch again. "Yes," he sneered.

"Calm down, Tom, it was only your first time," Ginevra said, letting his hand go.

"We'll try again," Tom said quickly.

"Of course, Tom," Ginevra replied. A wave of her hand and a tea set appeared on the coffee table in front of them. "Later."

"Now!" Tom retorted, and then cringed at how whiny and petulant he sounded.

Ginevra laughed, softly. "I'm glad you're keen," she said, starting to pour their drinks. "But we mustn't rush these things. Periods of rest are necessary." She handed him his tea.

Tom leaned back into the sofa and took a gulp, starting to relax as the warmth spread through his body. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ginevra settle into her side of the couch with her own cup. As they sat in comfortable silence, he took the chance to simply study her. She was staring off into the distance out the window and wouldn't notice his examination. His gaze settled upon her crimson locks. Half of her hair was pinned back in a simple, but elegant style and the other half fell in rivulets down her back and over a shoulder.

Suddenly, she turned to look at him and smiled. "Yes, Tom?"

Tom frowned and took another sip of his tea. "Nothing."

"It's not nothing," Ginevra said, softly. Tom looked up and caught a small smile on her dark pink lips. "You can tell me, Tom."

Tom smirked. "Just admiring your hair."

Ginevra looked pleasantly surprised and she touched a lock. "Well, I have a lot of time to work with it. There isn't much to do around here when you aren't speaking to me." She shot him a bit of a reproachful look at the end, but smiled.

Tom studied her for a moment. "What did you do when you were alive?"

Ginevra was silent for a second, and then smiled softly into her tea. "Lots of things," she murmured. "I miss being free of this diary." She suddenly looked up at him. "Don't get me wrong, Tom. This diary means so much to me." She nodded toward the window. "But it's not the real world. I miss my world."

Tom eyed her, feeling some kind of a knot in his gut. "What do you miss?"

Ginevra shrugged, but didn't turn away from the window. "Many things. I miss our manor… Even though this is an exact replica, it's just missing _something_." She shook her head. "I miss the gardens. My roses." Suddenly, she smirked. "I miss the people," she said, slowly.

"The people?" Tom raised an eyebrow.

"The court. The servants," she murmured. She tugged at a lock of her hair again. "I have few skills when it comes to handling hair. This simple style took me about half an hour. If I'd had anything else to do, I wouldn't have attempted it. My handmaidens could have done it in minutes." She shrugged again. "Of course, that's one of the few things they're good for."

Tom smirked. "Is that it?" he asked. "You miss flowers and ordering people about?"

Ginevra laughed again, but it was a bit empty. "I'm even starting to miss our enemies. Most of my time during the war was spent planning strategies of attack, hunting down spies amongst our ranks and trying to maintain order. After the war, it was just maintaining order, but it got more difficult. Wizards are a hard group to rule over."

Tom sat up straight. "Wait… Did you say there was a war? Did you rule over people?" All at once, he realized that he knew very little about the girl… Or woman… Sitting next to him.

Ginevra didn't respond for a second. Then she nodded. "Please don't ask me anything else," she said, quietly.

Tom studied her. "Why are you here?" he asked, slowly. "You seemed to have everything."

Ginevra smiled and turned to look at him. "I do. Well, she does. There was a reason he put me here, but I'm…" Her voice trailed off and she turned away. "I just don't understand what is happening."

"Who's 'he?'" Tom wanted to ask, but stopped himself. He bristled a bit in irritation and a bit of jealousy. Her Lord. Who else? He forced himself to stop thinking about the man who obviously held a special place in her heart and changed the topic. "Is there a way I can bring you out of this book?" he asked.

Ginevra didn't answer for a second. She met his eyes and jerked her head once in a nod.

"How?" Tom frowned.

Ginevra started playing with her necklace and leaned back into the couch. "There are two ways that I know of. To temporarily visit the outside world…" She met him eyes evenly. "You would have to let me share your body." Tom raised an eyebrow and she continued. "Take my soul and slip it into the corner of your mind." She smirked. "It would be like I was riding in your pocket."

Tom eyed her. "Are there any side effects?" he asked.

Ginevra shook her head. "Technically, I can do it whenever I want to." She noticed the dark look that passed over Tom's face and smiled. "But I wouldn't do it without your permission, Tom. I have more respect for you than that." She took a sip of her tea.

"What's the second way?"

Ginevra smirked at him. "Murder, dear. We would have to sacrifice another life to make me corporeal."

Tom frowned at her. "It doesn't have to be me?"

"Of course not," Ginevra assured him.

"What do we have to do?" Tom asked, leaning forward a bit.

Ginevra smiled and put her tea cup down. "I'm glad I mean so much to you," she said. "All we need is someone whose life essence I can suck out and use to become human again."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"

Ginevra nodded. "That's it." She got up and started pacing in front of the fireplace, playing with her necklace again. "Of course, it's more complicated than I describe it." She smiled at him. "When the time comes, you can watch and take notes."

Tom chuckled. "So… When shall we do this? Tonight?" he asked.

Ginevra shook her head. "No. Believe me when I say I'm sorry, Tom. We can't do this until you return to Hogwarts."

Tom scowled. "Why not now?!" he demanded. "We can use Cole!"

"This takes powerful magic. That, plus a dead body. If the Ministry gets wind of this, who do you think they would suspect of murder? The only wizard within kilometers of this place." Her eyes rested on him, meaningfully.

Tom's scowl darkened. "Wouldn't they suspect me if we did it there?"

Ginevra waved her hand, dismissively. "The castle is full of creatures that can jump out of a dark niche at any time and just gobble you up. No one would suspect a thing from you."

Tom nodded. "Fine… So who will we use?"

"Any ideas?" Ginevra smirked. Before Tom could answer, she cut in. "Not Timothy Weasley."

Tom smirked. "I was about to suggest Dumbledore."

Ginevra shook her head. "No. Killing off a professor is too risky. Any students, besides Timothy Weasley, giving you trouble?"

Tom looked at her. "What's the risk?" he asked, scowling. "Let's use Dumbledore."

Ginevra gave him an exasperated look. "I promise you that he will suffer," she said. "Please focus, Tom. Get your mind off Dumbledore and think about your classmates. You never speak to me about them. There must be someone you would like to see dead."

"Ginevra," Tom stated, voice deceitfully soft. "We'll use Dumbledore."

Ginevra looked at him, unmoving except for her hand tightening around her pendant. "Would you grant him the sweet mercy of death rather than watch him suffer?" she asked, softly.

Tom took a deep breath and looked away. For a second, there was no movement in the room. A moment later, a small smirk spread across Tom's face and he looked up at Ginevra. "Fine," he said.

Ginevra raised her eyebrows at the sudden change. "Do you have anyone in mind?"

Tom nodded, his smirk widening a bit. "And I've no doubt this death will hurt Dumbledore."

Ginevra smirked. "At least you're focused," she murmured. She looked at him, curiously. "Who?"

"Minerva McGonagall."

xXxXxXxXxXx

A/N

(gasp!) Run, Min, RUN!

Tom and Gin are so mean… What did Minnie ever do to Tom? That'll be up in the next chapter… Along with some more kisses, a few caresses, and more utter evildom.

I swear the next chapter will be out within a week. Please review.

luv

Creatress


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer - I don't own HP or anything related.

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Author's Note:

Here's chapter 5. Enjoy…

luv

Creatress

xXxXxXxXxXx

The Regina

Chapter 5

A green snake appeared, floating in the vast sea of darkness. Tom started a bit, but managed to keep his composure. He stared at its emerald scales and had to literally bite his lower lip to keep from whooping in excitement and victory. "A snake," he stated.

Ginevra smiled before nodding. "Congratulations, Tom," she said. "You're an official Legilimens."

Tom only allowed himself a smirk. "Finally," he said, softly. He looked out of the living room's window. The emeralds of the trees outside were just very lightly touched with spots of gold. He was going back to school tomorrow.

Ginevra followed his gaze. "Why don't we go for a walk?" she asked. "Just around the garden? To celebrate?"

Tom was about to refuse and suggest she give him a few last minute lessons before the plethora of schoolwork starting taking him away from her, but found himself nodding. "Fine," he mumbled, getting up. He was just a little bit curious – they'd never been out of the manor before.

Ginevra smiled again and got up. He followed her through the house and out of the back door. The garden was breathtakingly beautiful. It was vast, and bushes of dark red roses, junipers and yew trees dominated the area.

Ginevra had wound her arms around his right. "Isn't it beautiful?" she asked as they started walking around the stone path.

Tom only inclined his head the slightest bit to show his accord. "Why all the yews and juniper trees?" he questioned.

Ginevra looked up at him and smirked. "Because I love yews and juniper trees," she stated.

Tom glanced at her and quickly turned away. Her head was quite close to his shoulder and her lips had been close to his jaw. She'd fallen into the habit of kissing him on the cheek every time he left the diary, and warm flutters shot through his gut every time. He hadn't figured out why, and every time she touched him, he grew just a bit nervous. Before he could stop himself, Tom blurted, "My wand's made of yew."

Ginevra glanced at him and smiled, rather coquettishly. Her eyes wandered to a yew. "In real life, I planted these."

"Did you?" Tom frowned. He couldn't imagine her with a trowel and seeds, crouching in the dirt.

Ginevra smirked, her eyes not wandering from the trees. "Well, I ordered them to be planted."

"Ah." There, that made more sense.

"Yew trees are sacred, powerful beings, many found on holy ground. This is holy ground." Tom opened his mouth to ask why, but she continued. "They're also known as the trees of death, the Underworld and the afterlife. In many cultures, they've also been revered as a symbol for rebirth. Many of the world's oldest have been here for thousands of years. So you see how powerful a symbol they are?"

Tom nodded. He could feel his wand against his left forearm, up his sleeve where he usually kept it. A bit of pride surged through him. "So, why the junipers?"

"For one thing, my name means juniper. Secondly, people used to refer to junipers as 'mountain yews.' The Gaelic word 'iubhair,' for example, which now means yew, was used hundreds of years ago to refer to the local junipers."

Tom smirked, growing fond of the trees. It was almost as if he was meant to pick up her diary. Was it a mere coincidence that it just appeared in his trunk out of the blue? And that everything about them seemed to be intertwined? He turned to look at her. "Why is this holy ground?"

"Something very special happened here," Ginevra smirked.

Tom eyed her casual smirk. "You won't elaborate, will you?"

Ginevra stopped and turned to face him. "One day, you will figure it out yourself and be so pleased that I won't be able to control you."

Tom smirked down at her. "Is that so?" Ginevra nodded and he looked curiously at her. "If this place is so amazing, why do you want to leave?"

"Because reality is always better than a mere illusion," Ginevra answered, readily. She gestured around her. "You will stumble across here in real life."

Tom frowned. "How do you know?"

Ginevra turned away with a shrug. "Another instinct."

"You seem sure."

"Because I am." Ginevra started walking again. "Because I'll send you here."

Tom stopped short. "Oh. For half a second, I thought you were a divinator."

Ginevra shook her head. "No." She looked up at the sky. The aqua was starting to become overtaken by brushes of red and gold. It was almost beautiful. Almost. She turned back to him. "The sunset was always more breathtaking in real life. My favourite part of the day."

Tom glanced up at the sky before turning to look at her. She looked so wistful. "You'll be out soon," he promised. "I'm going back tomorrow."

Ginevra turned and smiled at him. "Tell me about Minerva McGonagall?" He had refused to answer her questions when she first interrogated him on his choice – he'd been much too keen on everything he had to learn to talk about something that could wait.

Tom nodded. "She's a year ahead of me." He frowned. "She will, no doubt, be prefect this year." He shook his head. "She's actually on my list of Most Annoying Gryffindors."

Ginevra smirked and shook her head. "Come, dear, they can't all be that bad."

"I've never met one I haven't wanted to murder," Tom answered.

Ginevra's smirk only widened. "Well. Go on, then."

"She's Dumbledore's pet. If it wasn't for the rumours of him being gay with that criminal Grindelwald, I would have sworn that he's buggering her."

Ginevra shot him an admonishing look. "Tom! She's fifteen, and he's… How old is he again?"

"Old enough to be her grandfather," Tom replied, smoothly.

Ginevra tried to stifle a sudden giggle and her grip around his arm tightened. "Well, I suppose that age is but a number." She laughed, softly again, trying unsuccessfully to disguise her giggles as coughs.

"What is it?" Tom asked, curiously.

Ginevra shook her head, mouth clamped shut, but he could see the amusement in her eyes. "It's nothing. Just a rather interesting mental image." She caught the look on Tom's face then and slammed her occlumency walls down. "Don't you dare, Riddle."

Tom smirked and turned away. "Fine."

Ginevra eyed him. "You'll have to find others to practice on. No professors though."

"Yes, I know. I'm not stupid." Tom looked over the yew trees again. "There are trees that can survive for thousands of years?"

Ginevra nodded. She looked up at him, curiously. "What are you thinking?"

Tom just shrugged, not looking away from the trees. "It would be… Useful, I think. To live so long."

Ginevra wound her arm around his again, gently resting her palm across his left forearm. "It would."

xXxXxXxXx

Tom walked quickly, making his way through the crowds and hoping to get a carriage with people he might be able to tolerate. He'd only had two minutes alone on the train and those were spent with Ginevra giving him last minute warnings about practicing legilimency and a pep talk on being _nice_ to Minerva McGonagall. He shuddered at the thought and remembered Ginevra's words.

**Why can't I just stun her and drag her into an empty classroom?** He'd demanded, pressing the quill into the page in frustration.

_No, no stunning. This always works better if the victim is, at least, a little bit willing._

**How nice would I have to be to her before she willingly gives up her life for me? ** He frowned.** It would never happen.**

_No, dear, listen – it'll be easier if she's willing to trust you. All you would have to do is ask her for homework help and lead her to an empty classroom._ There was a pause and Tom was about to answer before – _You do realize we won't be doing it in an empty classroom, don't you?_

Tom almost rolled his eyes. **Of course, not. You're always so literal.** Shaking his head, he continued. **Must she be willing?**

_Nobody's ever willing to die._ A pause._ Unless you're an irritating little mudblood mother who lives and dies for the sole purpose of giving me trouble… But that's a story for a different time._ Tom's eyebrow had barely finished its rise before she continued, her tone appearing to be brisk. _What we're about to perform is Dark Magic. A victim having strong feelings of friendship and trust toward a captor, even as he's killing her… Even if it isn't the malady of Stockholm Syndrome, it is still rather sick. Twisted. Not only does it add to the atmosphere, but it helps our cause._

Tom scowled. He still didn't want to do it. Minerva McGonagall was a goody-goody, straight-laced bookworm who he'd rather use as lab rat to practice his curses on. Almost as if she'd read his mind, Ginevra responded.

_Tom._ He stopped short for a second and almost heard her voice in his head – she didn't sound angry, but her voice was low. Like a warning. A dangerous warning. Almost a threat. _Don't make me take matters into my own hands._

He didn't know how to respond. One part of him was angry that she'd spoken to him with such a tone and the other part was encouraging him to adhere to her demands. Just as he was about to demand what she meant, Tarquin entered the compartment and Tom was forced to put the book away.

He gulped a bit, thinking of her last words to him. _Don't make me take matters into my own hands._ What did she mean? Why did it bother him so?

He was distracted when the cause of all the commotion caught his eye. Minerva McGonagall was getting into a carriage. He took a few long strides and he was at the carriage door. There was one more spot left – lucky him. Bracing himself, he hoisted himself aboard and sat across from her before quickly glancing at the other occupants. Their only two companions were two second-year Hufflepuff boys who were too busy staring wide eyed at the horseless fronts of the carriages to pay any attention to the older students. Dismissing them, he turned to look at his target.

Minerva hadn't even noticed him getting in. She was sitting, staring at her prefect's notes, completely engrossed. Her light brown hair was pulled back into a tight braid that fell across one shoulder and dangled down to her hip. Her oval face, with its rosy cheeks and hazel eyes, could have been pretty if not for the ever present frown her small pink lips were pulled back in. She sat primly, back painfully straight and legs crossed. Not one for chitchat.

Tom leaned against the carriage and frowned, looking away. So what the hell was he supposed to say to her? He probably should have planned this better…

xXx

Ginevra shook her head, not knowing whether to sigh in exasperation or in affection. Unfortunately, Tom's knack for improvising would not improve. She knew this and thought back (or forward, as the case may be) to her first year… He handled that situation as well as he could, given his talent, or lack there of, in on-the-spot planning.

Turning her attention back to the situation at hand, she watched from the furthest, darkest corners of his mind as he stared out of the carriage. At least he'd tried and sat with the bint. But he wasn't doing much else.

She sighed and closed her eyes. She knew what she had to do.

_Please forgive me, my Lord._

xXx

Tom's eyes snapped open. He could have sworn he'd heard Ginevra's voice just then – "Please forgive me, my Lord." What - ? Before he could finish the thought, he blacked out.

xXx

Minerva's notes suddenly flew out of her grip and landed along the floor of the carriage. She blinked in surprise and bent over to start gathering the papers. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the two first years still staring mindlessly out of the front of the carriage, but the older Slytherin bent down to help her.

When the last parchment was picked up, she sat back and took the remaining sheets from the boy across from her. "Thank you," she said, her lips quirking into a thin smile. Her voice was rather soft – not what the person across from her had expected. "They must have gotten away from me."

The handsome young man grinned. He had a charming smile. "It happens to the best of us." He nodded at the pages in her hands. "Studying before school even starts?"

Minerva actually smiled. "Yes. But, no. These are just a few notes I took at the Prefects' meeting. I'm just trying to memorize my schedule and whatnot before I do something wrong." She nervously shuffled the parchments in her lap and looked up at him again. "I'm Minerva McGonagall, by the way."

The Slytherin smirked. "Tom Riddle," he returned and held out a hand.

Minerva reached out and took his hand, shaking it firmly. "What year are you in?" she asked.

"Fourth," Tom answered. "You're in fifth, I'll presume?" He looked pointedly at the notes.

Minerva nodded. "Fourth year is very important," she stated, wisely. He glanced away, shifting uneasily and she frowned. "What is it?" she asked.

"I know it's important," Tom answered, his voice growing into a bit of a hush, as if he were letting her in on a secret. "I'm worried because my transfiguration skills are somewhat…" He frowned, glancing away again. "Lacking," he finished. He turned back to her. "I'm really worried about how my marks this year will turn out."

Minerva cocked her head, looking sympathetic. "How bad is it?" she asked, furrowing her brows.

Tom leaned back in his seat and sulked. "Lowest of all my subjects."

"If you want, I can help," Minerva immediately offered, her Gryffindor traits showing. She smiled, back straightening proudly. "My marks were great last year."

Tom smiled, wryly. "I know. Dumbledore's always going on about how great you are."

Minerva flushed. "He does not."

Tom shrugged, his half smile on his lips again. "He does to us. 'Last year, Miss McGonagall managed to do this in half the time' and the like."

Minerva's face was now the colour of her crimson scarf. "He does?" she asked, mortified.

Tom inclined his head. "He likes you – put in a good word for me?" he asked, sounding like he was joking.

Minerva blinked at him. "I don't think I'll be talking to him," she said, trembling a little. She forced herself to straighten up and faced the man across her. "I can tutor you, if you want?"

Tom eyed her and smiled. "You would willingly spend time with a Slytherin?"

Minerva laughed. "Why not? I think house rivalries are a bit childish. Competition is all well and good, but it shouldn't be a boulder in the path to academic achievement."

"No, it shouldn't. _Some_ Gryffindors are quite extraordinary. I can admit that," Tom said, smirking.

Minerva laughed, lightly, feeling flattered at what he'd said. "After we get our schedules, why don't you come find me and we'll set up a study date?"

"Excellent," Tom muttered. "So… What subjects are your favourites?"

xXxXxXx

Minerva was practically prancing when she joined her friend Marcia Gouiliana at the Gryffindor table. Her face was flushed and she grinned widely when she saw her. "Marcia!" she exclaimed.

Marcia was a petite girl with a short black, bob and sparkling violet eyes. She turned and raised an eyebrow at Minerva before enveloping the other girl in a hug. "Hello, Minnie," she smirked.

"I've missed you," Minerva said as she sat down, the smile still on her face.

Marcia eyed her. Something was wrong. Something had been wrong since Minerva walked in the door. Her steps weren't crisp and steady and the girl was smiling like an idiot. Now, she let her get away with calling her Minnie. "Are you ill?" Marcia asked, laying a palm across her friend's head. She did feel hot.

Minerva ducked away from the hand and shook her head. "I feel fine," she said, smiling.

"What has gotten you so…" Marcia frowned. "La-dee-da."

"I am not 'la-dee-da.' Whatever that might mean," Minerva sniffed, still smiling slightly. A shadow fell over their table and both girls looked up. "Hello, Professor!" Minerva exclaimed, her grin widening again. She didn't notice Marcia look at her with a surprised, dumbfounded expression.

Dumbledore was looking at Minerva the same way Marcia was. "Hello, Miss McGonagall. How was your summer?"

"Frank and productive. But I'm so glad to be back," Minerva said. She suddenly wondered where Tom was and swiveled around to glance at the Slytherin table. After a cursory glance, she noted that he wasn't there and turned back to Dumbledore, wondering why he was still standing there, staring strangely at her. "Yes, Sir?"

"Are you alright, Miss McGonagall?" Dumbledore asked.

Minerva simply nodded and gave him a bright grin. "I'm fine." She looked at him. "Your hair looks good pulled back like that."

Marcia choked on her pumpkin juice and turned to look at Minerva, her eyes wide and her jaw dropped open.

Dumbledore unsurely fingered his long dark brown hair, which was, for the first time in its life, pulled back into a ponytail. "Well…" He muttered, not quite knowing what to say. He'd only pulled it back to spite a rather vivid memory of Grindelwald – the man had always liked his hair out. 'Hair must only be tied up and constricted when it's old and gray,' he'd said. Dragging his thoughts away from his former lover… Or user, as it turned out, he looked at his star student. Minerva McGonagall was acting quite strangely. Never before had she said two words to him that weren't academia-related in nature. He cleared his throat. "Yours always looked fine pulled back, so I thought I'd try."

"Ah." Minerva wasn't listening. She'd taken another look down the Slytherin table. Where was Tom?

"Well, I'd best go sit down for the Sorting," Dumbledore said. "Good evening, ladies."

"Good evening, Sir," Marcia said.

Minerva just absent-mindedly mumbled something along the same line, still searching the Slytherin table.

Dumbledore only gave her another strange look before walking away.

"What is it?" Marcia hissed.

Minerva opened her mouth to reply, but at that moment, the deputy headmaster brought out the hat and the Sorting began. She waved her hand at Marcia to signal that she'll tell her later and settled in for the ceremony, still wondering where Tom was.

xXxXxXx

Tom groaned as he stirred a little. His head was pounding and he felt that his bed was soft and silky, so the only reasonable thing to do would be to turn back and go to sleep. But he was on a carriage – since when did carriages have soft beds? He muttered a curse and sat up, trying unsuccessfully to lift his heavy eyelids and wondering where he was and what had happened. All of a sudden, he couldn't feel his wand inside his sleeve and panicked. "Where in hell…" He muttered.

"Hush… It's okay. You're safe."

Ginevra's voice quickly chased away the panic he felt and he let her pull him down so that he was laying against her, his pounding forehead in the crook of her neck. He felt her press her lips against the top of his head and felt comforted. He didn't know what had happened or how he'd ended up from the carriage to her bed, but he realized that he didn't care. Whatever it was, he'd deal with it in the morning. For now, he'd just let Ginevra's gentle caresses and soft whispers lull him into a peaceful sleep.

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

A/N

I think things started to get interesting this chapter. More TG action in the next chapter.

You have to wonder – exactly how will Tom react when he finds out that Gin took him over? And set up a date with McGonagall, of all people? …

Uh oh … You'd better have a good excuse, my Lady…

Luv

Creatress


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer - I don't own HP or anything related.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Author's Note:

Here's chapter 5. Enjoy…

luv

Creatress

xXxXxXxXxXx

The Regina – Can't Get You Out of My Head

Chapter 6

"Tom! Tom, wake up!" Tarquin finally grasped Tom's shoulder and shook him, ignoring the pitying looks from their three dorm mates. Waking Tom up had fallen on Tarquin because he'd been the last to call himself out of the task… Nobody had wanted to risk Tom's wrath by being the one to disturb him, but all of them had known Tom would only be angrier if they'd allowed him to sleep through the first day. Also, Slughorn would lecture them for hours on end… Not to mention what the rest of the house would have done to them if any point loss had occurred.

It was strange… Tom stayed up the latest, but was usually up before the three of them. Last night, Tom hadn't been at the Great Hall, but nobody had minded. He was always disappearing at random times. His bed was empty when the four others had drifted off to sleep, but they'd still expected him to be up before they rose. It was just something that Tom did – he could function with no sleep.

Tarquin had agreed to the task of waking him up, on the condition that the other three stay and stop any fights from occurring. Abraxas, Ian and Vincent were standing a few feet away, waiting for the outburst. It was the first day, and none wanted to be cause of any point loss for their house by letting a housemate sleep in or by starting a fight.

Tom finally groaned and his eyes opened into narrow slits before he closed them again. He mumbled something that sounded like "Nevruh..." and Tarquin glanced at his friends.

Shrugging, Tarquin turned back. "You must," he insisted, thinking that Tom had said 'never.' "Come, Riddle, you have less than ten minutes."

Vincent sighed, rather impatiently and glanced at the clock on the wall. He saw Tom bury his face into the pillow and suddenly noticed that he was wearing his uniform – the tie and outer robes were gone and the top two or three buttons of his untucked shirt were undone, but he was still in uniform. "How late was he out last night?" he wondered out loud. "I mean, he didn't even change before bed."

"Maybe we should get him some pepper-up?" Ian asked, following his gaze.

Tom's eyes suddenly opened slowly. "What… Where am I?" he asked, sounding groggy. It was a tone that was foreign even to his own ears.

The other four boys in the room glanced at each other. Did he have amnesia?

"You're in your dorm," Abraxas supplied, walking up to the bed to stand beside Tarquin. "Where else would you be?" He leant over and carefully inspected the boy. "Where were you last night?"

Tom blinked and a scowl appeared across his lips. "None of your damned business!" he snapped, getting up. He wavered for half a second as his head spun, but he willed himself to straighten. "Go!" He waved a hand at the four boys. "Get to class." He suddenly stopped short. "What do we have first period?"

"Transfigurations," Tarquin said, handing him his schedule. Tom had slept through breakfast.

Transfigurations. Great. Just bloody great. Scowling fiercely as he took the parchment from Tarquin, Tom forced himself out of bed. "I'll be there as soon as I can. Tell Bumbling Bore that I felt sick – that should please him into excusing anyone for tardiness."

Glancing curiously at him, the four left the dorm and Tom quickly picked up his diary. He had to talk to Ginevra _now_. He couldn't remember anything that happened since yesterday afternoon and now he was certainly going to be late for class on the first day. Picking a quill out of his trunk and almost knocking the ink jar over in his hurry, he opened the diary to see that he needn't have bothered. Ginevra's writing was already waiting for him.

_I know. You're confused and you've slept late. I tried waking you, but you wouldn't budge. I'll explain what happened yesterday. Just get dressed, hold the diary and close your eyes. I'll get you to class on time._

Tom shut the book and worked on straightening his robes out. A few easy flicks of his wand, which had been lying in his trunk with his diary, tie and robes, and he was ready to go in less than a minute. Picking up his book bag and slipping his wand into his sleeve, he picked up the diary and, as instructed, closed his eyes.

xXx

Ginevra quickly took over Tom's body, relishing in the feeling of her cold soul slipping into the warmth of his rushing blood, his beating heart, his flesh. Having something corporeal touching her insubstantial spirit was comforting as she entered the living world. She felt alive – a feeling that one just didn't experience in the illusion of the diary world.

She felt Tom's soul inside of her, passing through hers, and becoming one with her before she overpowered him and he fell into a trance… It felt like she had last night when she'd held him in her arms as he fell to sleep, his head resting against her shoulder. There was a feeling of supporting him as he was weakened… But there was also the stronger feeling of control. He was with her – she could feel him, the same way she'd felt his breath against her neck last night. But he also _wasn't _there – like when he slept, he was dead to the world. Dead to the world, except her, who could feel his breath against her neck and know that he was alive.

She suddenly found herself wondering if this was what he would feel fifty years into the future when he'd take _her_ over.

Brushing the thought off, she settled into his body and tucked the diary away into his book bag before heading to the door. She passed a mirror and looked into it. He looked the same as ever… There was nothing feminine in his – or her – expression or the way she carried him that would indicate her inside of him. She smirked and her reflection copied – ah. Still nothing. Yes, her smile was different from his confidant, smug half-smirk, but the change wasn't so drastic that one looked at him and guessed there was another person controlling his actions.

No wonder that nobody had noticed anything during her first year.

Turning away from the mirror, she continued out of the dormitory, only stopping to cast an '_accio broomstick_' at Malfoy's trunk and smirking in success when it flew into her hand. It wasn't as fast as the brooms she was used to, but it would do. Casting a disillusionment charm on Tom's body and the broom, she climbed onto it and kicked off. Taking hidden passageways and shortcuts on a broomstick cut the time it took to get from the dungeons to the transfigurations classroom from ten minutes to less than two. She dismounted and waved her – or his – wand at the broom, sending it back to Malfoy's trunk. Then she disillusioned Tom and shut her eyes, letting his body go and shrinking back into that dark corner of his mind.

xXx

Tom started, feeling almost like he was jerking awake from sleep and found himself in front of his classroom door. Pushing it open, he felt a rush of relief, seeing that Bumbling Bore wasn't there yet. The students were sitting, talking to themselves, waiting for the class to begin. He walked down the middle aisle, sneering at a few Gryffindors, giving Timothy Weasley a particularly nasty scowl (which the redhead returned) before sliding into his seat in between Abraxas and Tarquin who both raised eyebrows at him in question.

"How did you…?" Tarquin asked.

"I have my ways," Tom smirked.

Abraxas looked like he wanted to say something, but just then, Bumbling Bore swept into the room and began his lesson.

"Hello, everyone. How was summer?" the professor asked, those insane twinkles sparkling merrily in his eyes. A few Gryffindors immediately started blabbering about their boring, useless lives and Bumbling Bore smiled, laughed, made comments and then rounded on the Slytherins, his eyes sickly predatory and kind at the same time. "And what did our beloved Slytherins do?"

Tom almost snorted and rolled his eyes. 'I spent the summer with an intelligent and wonderfully dark woman who taught me more in two months than you can manage to do in seventy years, never mind seven,' he thought.

_I'm flattered._

Tom stiffened, eyes widening. Apparently, Bumbling Bore noticed. "Tom? How was summer?"

Tom stared at the teacher for a second. "Spiffing," he smirked. He'd imagined it. Of course, he'd imagined it.

_That didn't last long, did it?_

Tom fought not to react. His outward appearance was stoic, but there was a whirlwind of thoughts going inside of him. What was going on?

_One second, I'm wonderful. The next, you deny my existence. Indecisiveness is a horrible trait, Tom – make up your mind. _

Tom was about to think her name in a questioning manner, but the look on Dumbledore's face stopped him. The professor was staring questioningly at him, and, for a second, Tom thought he'd heard Ginevra's voice.

_Of course, he didn't hear me. He's wondering why you're almost twitching._

Tom looked at Dumbledore and gave the older man his most charming smile. "It was fine," he said. He suddenly thought of Grindelwald's death and resisted the urge to ask the man how _his_ summer went. Tom thought he could hear Ginevra's soft laughter as the thought settled.

Bumbling Bore seemed to have been convinced, though there was a look of question on his face. "Great." He turned to face the class. "Let's begin with the lesson, then…"

Tom leant back in the chair, taking out his supplies for the lesson so that he could pretend to take notes. 'Ginevra?!' he hissed.

_The one and only, dearest._

'Where are you?!'

_I thought that would have been obvious, Tom. I'm inside your head._

For a second, Tom didn't know what to think. 'You're inside my head…?' he finally thought, confused. 'Am I imagining you?'

_Of course, not. I slipped from the diary to your mind. We discussed this during the summer._

Tom stared at the blackboard and scribbled something down, going at a faster pace than Dumbledore, just in case someone glanced over at his parchment. It wouldn't do to have nothing written down. He knew this work – he'd done it years ago. After jotting down random notes, he turned his attention back to Ginevra. 'We discussed you taking my body over,' he stated.

_I distinctly remember you having no problem with it._

'I said I wouldn't have a problem if you told me what you were up to,' Tom stated, growing a little irritated. A thought struck him. 'Can you read all of my thoughts in there?'

_No. I can only read your mind when you want me to._

Slightly comforted, he remembered waking up this morning. 'What happened last night?' he asked. 'I don't remember anything after getting into the carriage.' He waited for a few seconds, but Ginevra didn't reply. 'Answer me!' he suddenly barked inside his head, feeling frustrated and not caring that he was ordering her about.

_I shall tell you. I'm warning you now that you won't like it, but I did it for your own good._

'What did you do, Ginevra?' Tom asked, glaring at the words on the blackboard.

_I took you over in the carriage._ She didn't elaborate.

'Why?' Tom asked, softly. But even he could make out the suppressed anger in his tone.

_Because you could have started speaking to McGonagall and you did nothing. I warned you that I would take matters into my own hands, Tom._ Her voice was defensive and just a little bit… Tom couldn't find a word to describe that distressed note. It was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't tag it with a word. Ginevra continued. _A small 'accio' and she dropped all of her notes. I helped her pick them up and started a conversation. She thinks you have low marks in transfigurations and has offered to tutor you. You just need to find her, set up a study schedule and use your time together to win her trust. _A small pause. _For what it's worth, it shouldn't be too much trouble. She really, really likes you._

Tom hadn't really heard that last part. He was still trying to see past the rage he'd built up when he heard what she'd done. His quill was shaking in his white-knuckle grip. 'What?' he asked, dangerously.

_Tom…_ Ginevra's tone wasn't defensive anymore. That mysterious note had taken over her whole voice. She'd never spoken to him like this before.

All at once, Tom realized that she was pleading. The high and powerful Regina of thousands of wizards and witches was _pleading_. She was pleading for him to not be angry at her for what she'd done. Ergo, she _knew_ that what she had done was wrong.

And how in the wrong she was. How. Utterly. _Wrong_. She'd taken over his body without his permission and that enraged him to his core. His very being was one of the few things he truly possessed, something that he could call his own. No one, not even Ginevra, used his body. No one. No bloody one.

Tom was seeing red. A deep, vibrant shade of crimson that reminded him of her hair. Gods, she had such beautiful hair. Her hair was perfect. At the moment, it was _too_ perfect. _She_ was too perfect. She had instilled in him a desire, a need, to ruin that perfection. To ruin her, to hurt her the way she'd just hurt him, to violate her the way she'd just violated him.

Suddenly, Tom's quill tip snapped against his notes because he'd been pressing it so hard. He quickly cleaned it up with a wave of his wand before anyone noticed and repaired his quill. In the time it took to do that, he'd thought of something. How? How would he go about extracting his revenge? Ginevra had taught him just about everything _he_ knew, but she hadn't taught him everything _she_ knew. He kept forgetting that she was an older, powerful witch who was trained by someone who seemed to be absolutely _evil_. If he were to snap at her, there was no guarantee that he could win in a fight with her. He took a few deep breaths and forced himself to calm down. He would do nothing about this now… But one day, he would make her pay for what she did.

'I didn't like that, Ginevra,' he thought, tone even.

_Yes, Tom. I realize that. I am truly sorry. I know how you must feel –_

'Just swear to me that you won't do it again,' Tom interrupted, frowning at the parchment before him.

_I won't do it ever again if you don't want me to._

'Fine,' Tom thought, the word flowing quietly in his mind. He felt himself relax a bit. For a few long seconds, there was silence in his head. The only sounds he heard were of Dumbledore's lecturing, Tarquin's quill scratching across his parchment, Abraxas shuffling his notes… Then he heard Ginevra's quiet, tentative voice.

_What do I have to do to earn your forgiveness?_

'I don't know.' This was the truth. Tom _didn't_ know. 'Don't remind me of it,' he added, feeling his recent state of relaxation start to slip away from him.

_Yes, Tom._

'Why can't I remember the feast?' Tom asked.

_You didn't want to go._

'Why not? And why can't I remember that?'

_I was hoping you would tell me. After you parted ways with McGonagall, I left to come back to the diary. A while later, you just appeared in my bedroom and collapsed onto the bed before I had a chance to speak to you._

Tom frowned. What had happened to him? 'What did you do?' he asked.

_I tried waking you up, but, you know how you get._

'How do I get?' Tom demanded.

Ginevra didn't respond for a second. _Crankier and more disobedient than a newborn. You are lucky that I love you for it. You just wouldn't wake up. I went to sleep, too, after a few hours. You kind of woke up in the middle of the night with a headache._

Tom thought for a second. He thought he could remember that. Sitting up in her bed – he'd never been there before – and wondering where he was. She'd held him, softly spoken to him and lulled him back to sleep. That he could vaguely remember. Nothing else. A thought struck him and he tensed. 'Ginevra?'

_Yes, Tom?_

'Did we…' He faltered. 'I was with you the whole night?'

_Yes, Tom._

'Did we… Do… Anything?' He frowned. There was a knot at the bottom of his stomach and he tried to deny any possibility that she would have taken advantage of him. She couldn't have – he wouldn't have let her. No matter how tired he was – if he was so tired, she couldn't have done anything because he wouldn't have responded, right? His heart was starting to beat faster and his eyes narrowed at the chalk lines on the board.

_Of course, not, Tom. Nothing happened. All you did was sleep in my bed. I held you. That was it._

'Good,' Tom thought.

'_Good,' Tom?_

Tom didn't reply.

_Please don't tell me you're starting to hate me because of what I did. I did it for both of us, Tom, you know that. Don't forsake me because of it. Please._

Tom let his eyes run over the board, taking in the familiar words, incantations and wrist movement diagrams. It was so familiar to him; he knew it like the back of his hand.

All at once, his rage disappeared with an exhale as he smirked. It felt good to have Ginevra pleading with him. The tables were turned. It was always him who asked her for things, pleaded with her to teach him a spell, to go over a hex with him, to share her thoughts on a curse. And to tell him stories about her world – the one item on which she wouldn't budge whilst she usually crumbled, albeit in her graceful, majestic way, to all of his other requests. 'We'll see, Ginevra,' he thought, simply.

Ginevra was quiet and didn't respond for a second. _I understand. What do you want to do now? Will you just sit and listen to Dumbledore or shall I teach you something else?_

'How will you get back into the diary?' Tom inquired.

I just… It's like apparating.

'I see.' He frowned. 'Can you go now?' he asked, just a little edgily.

Ginevra didn't respond for a second. He thought he could hear a slight, defeated sigh. _If you wish._

'Tell me what you did with McGonagall,' Tom said, instead.

_We spoke about different classes. She thinks you have low marks in this one and has offered to tutor you. Everything else I told her was pretty much the truth. That you enjoyed DADA and all the other classes were fine. She told me a lot about herself. She has one younger sister and one brother, both too young to be in school. Dumbledore is, actually, not her favourite – Quatimier is._

Tom let his eyes wander over to Dumbledore. 'He's not?' he asked with a slight smirk.

_No, Tom. And, no, she is not sleeping with him, either._

'You asked her that?' Tom asked, surprised.

_I can tell from the way she talks about him. Believe me, there is nothing going on there. During her time here, she's only had one boyfriend, a Marcus Hewitt._

'He'll be gone next year,' Tom stated, thinking of the seventh year. Hewitt was never someone who gave him trouble. He was just a shy, quiet and studious Gryffindor who was looked over often because of his nature. If Tom ever thought about him at all, he would wonder why the boy had been sorted into house in the first place.

_He's as good as gone now. They drifted apart a while ago. From reading her mind, I just found out that the only reason they were together was because of the… Let's call it convenience._

'Convenience, Ginevra?' Tom asked, intrigued.

_Hewitt was a lonely boy, McGonagall was a lonely girl… And it's quite hard to keep yourself happy without carnal pleasures. So they figured why not…_

Tom wanted to laugh out loud. 'That is both sad and pathetic. But, I suppose it works.'

_They were only together for experimentation. Hewitt, I suppose, lost interest._

Tom couldn't keep in a quiet snort at that. 'Sad and pathetic,' he reiterated.

Ginevra's soft laughter chimed through his head. _Anyways, she is completely smitten with you now._

'Is she now?' Tom asked, doodling mindlessly in his book. 'I wonder why that is…'

_She has a right, Tom. You're a very attractive boy._

Tom suddenly felt something tremble in his empty stomach and frowned, trying to rid himself of the feeling. He felt a poke in his side and turned to see Vincent Crabbe and Tarquin frowning at him.

"Are you alright?" Crabbe hissed, looking at him carefully.

Tom inclined his head and turned back to his parchments. "Why do you ask?" he asked, lowly. He glanced soberly at them and they turned away. He then glanced at Dumbledore to make sure that he hadn't noticed anything. When he saw that the professor was satisfactorily oblivious, he leaned back in his chair and tried to make himself comfortable for the next two hours of pure children's work. If things had gone differently last night, he would have been ecstatic to have Ginevra with him to save him from the tediousness and simplicity of what the Hogwarts' curriculum taught.

_Why not practice your legilimency on one of the Gryffindors? They're too far away to notice you looking at them. Also, they're too preoccupied with Dumbledore to notice someone trying to get into their minds. Even if they do notice something, they're too uneducated to recognize it for what it is. They'd just brush it off for a headache._

'Good idea,' Tom thought, begrudgingly and turned to look at the Gryffindors. She was right – the whole lot was staring, eyes wide and worshipping, at Dumbledore, except the few handful who'd momentarily tore their eyes away to put his holy words to parchment.

_Tom?_

'What is it, Ginevra?' Tom asked, feeling a little irritated that she'd interrupted just as he was focusing in on Carey-Anne Bones' eyes.

_Last night and… Well, getting you to class this morning, has left me rather worn out. Would you mind if I slip back to the diary?_

Tom frowned. 'You won't be able to come back to me before I write again, will you?'

_No, I won't be at your beck and call until I grow stronger._ A little pause. _I can stay longer._

Tom glanced at Bones. He'd been hoping that she would stay and give him tips as he practiced. But, she probably was tired. 'Go then.'

There was a pause and Tom thought that she was gone, but she spoke again. _Tom, are you sure? I should stay; I know I've upset you…_

'Yes, you have. But you won't make it better by staying here, now, will you?' He scowled at his parchment. 'I will see you after classes, Ginevra, and we can talk about it then.'

Another pause. _I'll stay and help you with your practicing._

'Are you not tired?'

_Yes, but – _

'Just go, Ginevra!' Tom snapped in his mind. He glanced angrily at the Gryffindors. Bones had turned away to write something down. He'd have to choose someone else now… If Timothy Weasley wasn't shifting his adoring eyes from Dumbledore to that girl, What's Her Name, every ten seconds, Tom would have tried him.

_Promise me that you will write today?_

'I swear it,' Tom thought, frowning.

_I'll see you then, Tom._

There was a sudden ringing emptiness in his head. It wasn't like the times she'd been there and silent, but he knew that she simply wasn't there anymore. Oddly enough, the only thing he could ponder now was that it felt… Strangely unsettling… That she'd left him without the customary good-bye peck on his cheek. She couldn't have – not in this filled classroom, with her in his mind… But still, he couldn't help but to raise his hand to his face and gently brush at the spot under his cheekbone that her lips would have caressed.

xXxXxXxXx

Ginevra appeared in her room and flopped gracefully into her king-sized bed. She should be irritated and angered beyond all belief with Tom's attitude – _she_ hadn't given _him_ such a hard time. But, now, her mood was sufficiently improved. Firstly, she'd been well aware of the fact that even though he was angered by her actions, he still felt strongly enough about her to tell her to get some rest, even though it would have been more beneficial to him if she would have stayed in his head. She was making progress, then – soon she would have all of his trust and love. There was nothing better or more useful than a young lord wound tightly around her pinky finger.

The second reason that she was in a better mood now was because…

She turned over to the side of the bed, almost in the middle, where Tom had lain and breathed deeply. She could still smell him.

She had technically been telling the truth when she said that they'd done nothing – because 'we' could only do something if 'he' had done something has well. He hadn't responded in his tired state – and she knew that the reason was all, but she wasn't about to tell him that her possession left him in sleep so deep. He hadn't been anywhere but the carriage and her room last night. No, save for the few twitches and sighs, he hadn't responded, but she'd taken her chance to explore his body.

She shouldn't have… She really shouldn't have. What she'd done was molestation. But, she'd buried her conscience a very long time ago and felt no regret as she'd pressed her lips all over his face, his neck. No twinge of guilt as she'd slowly unbuttoned his shirt and run her hands, and then her lips, across his pale chest and stomach. Just a small sense of pleasure, a silent promise that they would do more soon, and that feeling of… Ownership.

Neither regret nor guilt.

It's not as if he wouldn't be hers eventually.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Author's Note:

Oh, how the tables have turned. You don't get many fics where sweet, little Ginny is the abuser. Now you know how it feels, Tom. Oh, and you have to wonder – will Tom ever find out? How will he react? Hopefully, nothing like he reacted to her possession. He's drowning in rage – how will he extract his revenge against her? Can their relationship survive it? When will I stop talking? NEVER!

Review – I'll give you a cookie!

Luv

Creatress


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